Blame the Bananas
by Veritas Found
Summary: It was the last time Rose would let the Doctor get away with the excuse 'But they're the first group to ever play with just bananas'. [For Word 24 in the 15 Minute Fic comm.]


**Title:** "Blame the Bananas"

**Author:** Wish Wielder

**Fandom:** Doctor Who

**Pairing / Character Focus:** Ten, Rose

**Challenge:** 15 Minute Fic

**Theme / Prompt:** Word #24

**Word Count:** 800

**Rating:** K Plus / PG (For drinking.)

**Summary:** It was the last time Rose would let the Doctor get away with the excuse "But they're the first group to ever play with _just bananas_!".

**Notes:** General S2 timeline. Total crack!fic.

**Disclaimer:** "Doctor Who" and all respective properties are © the BBC. Megan D. (Wish Wielder) does not, has never, nor will ever own "Doctor Who".

"_**Blame the Bananas"**_

It was the last time Rose would let the Doctor get away with the excuse "But they're the first group to ever play with _just bananas_!". It was the last time Rose would let the Doctor browse through a souvenir stand. It was the last time Rose would ever let the Doctor take her to a concert.

At least when they were aiming for concerts of bands she liked or at least knew of they never managed to actually land there.

This, though…this was just unforgivable. He could say he had no idea it would happen all he liked, but as a Time Lord – a relative master of all time and self-proclaimed sodding genius! – he should have seen this coming. He really, really, _really_ should have seen this coming.

And not in a two-seconds-before-it-happens way of seeing it coming, either.

It had all started the day before, when they had stopped on Bunchezi 9, a planet that was quite literally bananas for bananas. Their buildings were made of bananas, their trinkets were made of bananas, their clothes were made of bananas, they ate nothing but bananas – it was a literal banana society. Rose had wondered, what with the Doctor's banana complex, why they hadn't landed there sooner, but the Doctor had simply said they had never had the time.

They had been walking down the street (paved with petrified banana peels) when he had seen a hall with a giant poster on the outside, advertising a concert for the next night that was to be held by the Banana Boiz. The Doctor had been beyond excited, claiming how the Banana Boiz were the ones who had taken banana-playing music and perfected it to something greater than art, and after much begging she had finally caved and said she'd attend the concert with him. At the time, a part of her had been curious – just how did you turn bananas into musical art, anyway?

Well, it hadn't been too bad. The music wasn't exactly her preference, but the Doctor had had a blast and that made it worth it in her book. She had been surprised to see the wide variety of alcoholic drinks available at the concert, and while the Doctor's hand was never without his trusty banana daiquiri she had found herself rather fond of the banana margarita. That was probably where the evening had turned downhill, where both of the TARDIS's residents had decided to get plastered. She really, really wished the Doctor had told her Bunchezi 9 alcohol was so much more potent than Earth alcohol; her two margaritas left her feeling more like it had been twenty, made with the best José money could buy.

They had left the concert happy and drunk, singing loud and off-key as they ambled out of the hall. They had spotted a souvenir stand by the exit, and the Doctor had been too eager to run over and see what they had. She had left with her very own Banana Boiz groupie shirt while he had claimed a 9999 Road Tour pin, shaped just like the lead's banana guitar.

If either of them had been sober or at least remotely coherent, they may have noticed how no one else was going near the stand. They may have realized how decidedly evil the salesgirl looked, with her glinty eyes and wicked grin. They might have realized the way the items wouldn't remove themselves once they had made it home to the TARDIS, unable to actually get inside thanks to their inebriated state. They might have even realized that the Doctor, when smashed, was quite the little flirt.

Of course, thanks to two-more-like-twenty margaritas and God only knows how many daiquiris, they had failed all counts of noticing.

They didn't notice when the shirt had turned into a giant bag or when the pin had sprouted some rather prickly vines.

They thought it was amusing when said prickly vines latched around the Doctor and had left him hog-tied on the banana-clad street.

They found it down-right hilarious when the bag closed up Rose and she found she couldn't get out.

They found it more than hilarious when the Banana Boiz themselves stalked over to them and carried them away.

They didn't find it quite as amusing when they woke up the next day to find themselves dangling over a large, banana-scented pot from the pin-vines still protruding from the Doctor's lapels.

"For the record," Rose started hesitantly as they performed their favorite hobby: staring into the face of certain doom. "I really, really, really hate bananas right now."

"Oh, I'm not blaming the bananas," she heard the Doctor say, and she winced at how loud he sounded. What she wouldn't give for some of his miracle hangover cure. "I blame the pin."

**A.n.:** _So I went a bit over the time limit, but…yeah. Y'know, it would serve him right, the bananas turning on him like that. (I'm only saying this because I now can't see a banana without shouting out "Don't drop the banana!" or some other Doctor Banana Line.) Word was "pin", by the way. And I'm not expecting this to make sense. It was crack, pure and simple._


End file.
